Mixing quantum theory & theology
To drive deeper, points of philosophy
That otherwise are lost
If, today, they come across
As too simplistic

Mixing my life & history with antiquity
Because so much of what is happening are
Trapped in patterns and sequences, being repeated
And to give life more interest and meaning

My companions, forlorn, left Remus Primoid— disappearing like vultures into a Sub-Saharan vista of the night— and travelled back to Earth, missing the the life they had once lived. I, however, had no friends or family to sustain my sentimentality and decided to stay upon Remus Primoid, within the village of Tok-Tuu, hoping to create a life for myself upon this distant world.

In my fifth year as a villager of Tok-Tuu I was permitted to learn the oblong mutterings: sacred chants created by the pre-eminent founder, Oblong Jenkins-Kennedy, who uttered these chants under his breath as he carved the ancient structures of Tok-Tuu, as well as the hidden statue of Tei Romuloid-Papatemuloid, the mother of all life on Remus Primoid, a statue hidden within the depths of the ancient tombs, situated deep within the catacombs.

The mutterings were as follows:

"Oblongboidoid, Tok-Tuu, Tok-Tuu. Boid, boid. Bashin-gore— I sustain my left foot. Boid, boid. Tok-Tuu, Tok-Tuu. Helmonstap-hablefoot, caress carefully."

Upon my learning of the sacred mutterings, I was initiated into The Society of Sculptors. Such joy I felt, in this, my fifth year, to finally be accepted, truly, among the people of Tok-Tuu!

In the beginning was the continuation of the species then came love.
In the beginning was the survival of the fittest then came altruism.
In the beginning was the pack then came narcissism.
In the beginning was the alpha male then came democracy.
In the beginning was the present then came the past and the future.
In the beginning was Keynisism then came neoliberalism and depression.
In the beginning was Lucy
Then came **** Sapiens Sapiens.
So
What next?

Join the tattooed urban tribes!

Share the Maoris’ drumming vibes.
Fire brand your love onto your heart.
Show that holy stigmata don't hurt.
Place *** at the apex.
Chisel deep into your flesh
What is cash and what is trash.

Set your body apart as a work of art.
Don’t be a naked human monkey.
Don't let anyone know you're funky.
Turn your taboos into tattoos.

But at night, take off your shoes
and put to sleep your tattoos.
Then sink under your skin
and meet yourself behind the scene.

Perhaps, you’ll see tattoo
as nothing new
(I’m afraid)
than the old skin trade.

I believe in a past
that never existed.
Always willing to tell
others they should
be sad they missed it.
For what never lasts
can always be reimagined,
engineered ad-hock.
For me, the door to
the past is always wide open.
But, the one to the future
I cannot unlock.

so please don't give me the key
I don't wanna see beyond
what went before.

I believe in a moment
of imagined purity.
To close my eyes
on the acts of cruelty,
that lead to this modernity.
Only seeing the light that
concealed the night,
and the chains of *******.
For the good,
that is all I see.
Because I need to see
that good in me.

so please don't give me the key
I don't wanna see beyond
what went before.

I wake up whenever the big bright thing comes back, you call it a sun but I don’t know that fact.  I don’t have a specific schedule, my mud hut is pretty basic but arguably influential.  I don’t start my mornings with green eggs and ham, a freshly caught rabbit shall be breakfast for the fam.  

Most of my day consists of finding food, whatever’s around, no particular mood.  Everything I’ve learned I teach to my child, this uncivilized world can get pretty wild.  After playing with junior I look for more food, I see a fellow ‘magnon “What’s up, my dude?”  We forage for nuts and we forage for berries, leaves will do, but, you know, it varies.  

When the cold goes away we’ll begin to farm, we’ll change the land what’s the harm?  It’s almost dinner what could I make?  There’s a lot of fish down in that lake.  I crouch near the water and aim my harpoon, I sense a tasty supper sometime soon.  Compared to the average human my senses are keen, lucky for you It’s 2016.  

I’m stuck in the food chain, you shouldn’t complain.  I had to outrun a bear today, I ran uphill and shouted, “HOORAY!”  The hill had a spider, it couldn’t be wider.  It bites my ankle, making me rankled.  I’m growing pretty tired, possibly due to the bite I acquired.  

My head gets heavy and my thoughts start to fade, I try to focus on the idea I last made.  I look at the tiny dots in the night, contemplating my place and where I fit right.  My species so young, our world so mysterious, what you have yet to learn should make you delirious.  

I curl up on the floor and close my eyes, the story of my life forever fossilized.  My tribe members bury me but I’m not the first, an underground sea of dead bodies is all that remains in the land we traversed.

jet-stream, that trails
jet-stream, clearly shown
to us as the mark, as the mark of the one
most awesome of gods, of the Creating Snail
    gentle, and generative,
                      and
                fertile
                   by: our one mind

                                      below
             all our reason, in light
of our eyes, of our ancients
in season

fruit, when found eaten
red hand, in jar dripping
we liken to something, reflux acid sweetened
sweet before swallow, as is every scroll's sum--memory
    distant, and blind,
                      but
          not dumb